


sensitive to pressure

by momentofclarity



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Body Hair, Body Worship, Closeted Character, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Famous Harry Styles, Famous Louis Tomlinson, Hockey AU, Light Angst, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Rimming, Smut, Sweat, body fluids in general tbh, mostly just, so much sweat, they're both in the closet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:02:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22943755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momentofclarity/pseuds/momentofclarity
Summary: Harry’s breath stutters on its way up his throat, his cheeks heating more with each step as Louis gets closer and Harry can’t move. Feet stuck to the carpet, heavy and unwilling, unable to shuffle away or take control, stuck in place and waiting.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 56
Kudos: 311
Collections: Hairy Styles Pubefest 2020





	sensitive to pressure

**Author's Note:**

> i changed a detail or two from the prompt. hope the prompter don't mind too much! 
> 
> thank you, all of you, always.

“What are you doing?” 

Harry stops in his tracks — cheeks heating up, skin prickling at the back of his neck. His heart racing for the first time since he left the ice nearly two hours ago. 

It’s only the two of them left now and just the concept of being alone with Louis is usually enough to make his stomach flutter. Being alone with Louis and getting  _ caught _ is even better. 

Or worse, depending on definition. 

He swallows to give himself some time, collecting his thoughts before turning around and facing the other man. 

“Just…” He loses his train of thought the moment he catches sight of Louis — towel wrapped around his waist, water running in rivulets down his chest. 

A mirage. A fantasy. Somehow reality.

“Just wanted to get a little taste, huh?” Louis’ smile is sharp, cutting through every layer of Harry’s skin, his every defense, leaving him stripped bare while fully clothed. “Couldn’t help yourself?”

He looks lethal as he advances, swaying slightly from side to side the way hockey players tend to do, and Harry can picture the flex of his obscene thighs under that towel. 

A flash of pink comes out to wet Louis’ bottom lip, just a small hint showing his interest. 

Harry’s breath stutters on its way up his throat, his cheeks heating more with each step as Louis gets closer and Harry can’t move. Feet stuck to the carpet, heavy and unwilling, unable to shuffle away or take control, stuck in place and waiting. 

When they’re close enough that Louis has to tilt his head to meet Harry’s eyes, Harry’s mouth falls open, suddenly in a hurry to explain himself, to save some of his dignity even though he should know what a futile effort it would be. 

“You said to wait for you, you… you knew I’d find it,” is what he manages to squeeze out from the tightness in his chest. It’s an explanation and a confession all wrapped into one. Trying to place blame in Louis’ hands while also admitting to his own weakness. The way he can’t stay away. Can’t refuse himself when left with temptation. 

Louis’ smile tugs up at the corner, eyes glinting dangerously as he reaches out to tuck a sweat-stiff curl behind Harry’s ear. 

“Maybe.” He smudges his thumb against the burn of Harry’s cheek. “You really like it so much?”

As if he doesn’t know. As if that filthy piece of fabric isn’t what started this thing all those years ago. Like this, them, didn’t settle onto a dangerous and sweet-edged path the moment Louis first caught him with his nose tucked deeply into the worn-out cotton. 

Harry nods, fingers twitching where he’s holding the dirty jockstrap against his thigh. It’s still warm and soaked through, still reeks with Louis’ scent, Louis’ hard work and stubborn play. His cock twitches at the fresh memory of Louis flying across the ice, catching the puck mid-air and shooting it straight to the net, top glove side. 

Only minutes ago they were out there in front of thousands. Supporters, international media coverage, and staff watching their every move. The contrast between the soars, of the people still meandering in the halls outside, of the supporters who might still be buying jerseys with their names across the backs — and this, it’s... 

The two alternate captains of the Seals linger behind; watching each other’s every move as if they’re still being judged on technique and endurance.

“You know I do,” Harry says then, caught between wanting to play their game and just letting himself surrender. And just like most times, letting his hesitance fall away, is what makes the sharpness of Louis’ gaze soften. The crinkles by the corners of his eyes appear like the first rays of light after a long night. 

“I do.” His voice is raspy soft, so different from the determined tilt he has during his post-game media duties.

Louis’ hand leaves the side of Harry’s face and comes up to drag through the wet drop of his own fringe. He moves away, the next few words coming from over his shoulder as he moves towards his own booth. “Get kitted and meet me at my place in half an hour, yeah?” 

Harry’s belly swoops with the instruction, breath stuttering just so before he nods, trying to get his brain back online. It’s really quite impressive how quickly he can switch from the hyper focus during a game into this trembling mess. 

The switch back isn’t as easy. 

Louis has his back turned now, pulling on sweats and a t-shirt over his shower damp skin, so Harry takes the few steps back into his own booth, dipping his head down with burning cheeks as he, just one more time, raises the soft cotton up to his nose. 

His eyes burn with it, the fire in the pit of his belly, and he resists the urge to open his mouth and  _ suck _ . To feel that strong burn on his tongue, allowing the salt and heavy musk to make him woozy.

He doesn’t though, keeps his salivating mouth shut through one last inhale, before shoving the jockstrap into his bag. Knowing he can’t lose it, that Louis  _ trusts him _ to take care of it because he’s used the same fucking jockstrap since junior league. That Harry is privileged enough to taste, touch, smell something that has been with Louis through every success, every trophy-worthy game, for the past decade. 

Harry’s well aware that it doesn’t make sense, or at least that it shouldn’t. Something like that should be considered a rather nasty quirk, one of those absurd compulsions that hockey players have about lucky charms and excessive routine. 

He’s also aware that it’s not simply the jockstrap. It’s not all about the stress sweat from losing a game or the lingering elation of raising that cup up towards the sky. That it’s mainly about the man wearing it. About the fact that if he could, he’d taste, touch and smell every part of Louis that he could get ahold of. 

Since their interactions are restricted to empty locker rooms and gate-kept houses, his need to always be closer is that much  _ more _ . If they could touch beyond slaps on the back or small smiles across rooms, he might not be so starving. 

As it is — he wants to drown himself in Louis as much as he can. Surround himself with the man who holds his heart behind smoke and mirrors.

A hand lands on his back. “No stress baby, I’ll see you in a bit.”

Harry scolds himself for getting lost in his thoughts. He scrambles to gather up his gear, even though he usually waits a few minutes before following Louis out. 

Not because there should be anything strange about two players leaving at the same time, but because caution is so ingrained in every little thing that they do. 

His eyes wander over the stalls one last time, and get stuck on the neatly folded bundle over in Louis’ booth. A small smile spreads over his lips as he heads over, body  _ yet again _ starting to thrum with excitement.

The fabric of Louis’ jersey is smooth against his fingertips, and just like the jockstrap burning a hole in his bag, it’s still soaked through with all the things Harry desires. 

He quickly pulls his t-shirt off and replaces it with the jersey, the cooling fabric causing his skin to rise with goosebumps. Just like that, his cock is plumping up, thickening with hunger in his own jockstrap, and he needs to shut his eyes for a moment. 

Finally he lets out a deep breath that breaks with laughter, knowing how fucking ridiculous he’s being. That wearing someone’s sweaty jersey  _ shouldn’t  _ be mind numbingly hot, but that somehow just makes it all even better. 

\---

The stench in the car from his own unshowered body and Louis’ jersey clinging to his skin is hard to ignore, but he makes it to Louis’ without crashing. They both live in a small community just outside of town, an exclusive clique of electric gates and massive front lawns. It might be slightly gaudy, but it’s quiet and their neighbours are pretentious enough to leave them be. Harry tries not to think about how much more like a home his house would feel like if it wasn’t just for him. 

He enters the house through the garage and is met by Louis sitting on the kitchen counter, leaning back casually on his hands, but clearly waiting. For being relatively small framed on the ice, he looks massive spread out like this, thick thighs straining the fabric of his grey sweatpants. His biceps bulge against the sleeves of his t-shirt. 

“You’re wearing it,” he states as he tilts his head, eyes wandering over Harry from top to bottom. 

It’s so silly, so repetitive and obvious and everything that Harry has come to crave. Of course he’s wearing the fucking jersey, because Louis  _ knows _ how much Harry wants it. 

Harry drops his bag and heads over, standing between Louis’ knees and puts his hands on those thighs. 

Louis smells so clean, warm and sweet and Harry’s skin itches with how dirty he feels. 

Then Louis’ hands come up to cradle his cheeks, drawing him in, and he forgets all about it. He loses himself in the wet slide of Louis’ tongue, relishing in the thrill every kiss grants him. 

Kissing is still the thing that always seems the most impossible to him. He can somehow picture himself on his knees for someone else. Can grasp the concept of letting someone else grab and push and pull at his skin, but this. The thought of ever kissing another man feels impossible. He can’t imagine ever letting someone else close like this. 

A small whimper escapes him when Louis’ fingers curl in his hair and they pull apart with shared breaths. 

“What do you want?” Louis asks, clear blue eyes burning against his green. And just like always, Harry knows it’s not just a simple question, but an inquiry of consent. The times when Harry’s skin doesn’t burn like this, when all he wants is gentle touches and kisses to his temple, then that’s what he says. 

When he looks at Louis and says “Whatever you want,” he means  _ take me apart. _

Louis drags Harry’s head back by the hair and leans in close, letting his nose travel along the expanse of Harry’s exposed throat. “I want you on my bed, filthy like this, wearing nothing but my jersey.”

Harry shivers, feeling urgency rise to the surface of his skin, goosebumps breaking out beneath dry sweat heating up once more. “Yeah.” 

They kiss again, too sweet for what they’re doing, for this game they’re playing, but they both seem to crave those kisses more and more. Then Louis breaks their kiss and his hand comes down in a gentle slap across Harry’s cheek. Not stinging but bringing him back from the brink for just a second. 

“Go baby.” 

Harry nods, swallows against the rapid beat of his heart and turns around to leave. Instantly his body misses the heat of Louis’ skin. 

\---

He knows Louis isn’t far behind, so he hurries to kick out of his sweats, shoes and underwear, doesn’t bother where they end up on the bedroom floor. His neck is flushed with heat now. Where before he felt itchy with dried sweat, he’s now itching with anticipation. 

With a deep breath, he gets up on the bed and kneels his way over to the center, lying down on his belly right in the middle. He feels so utterly exposed like this, even partially clothed, with his bum facing towards the door, long legs squirming slightly against the cool covers. Cock hard and dripping beneath him. 

“Fucking hell,” Louis groans as he enters the room, and Harry hears him advance towards the bed, clothes falling to the ground as he goes. 

Harry doesn’t turn his head to look, but when the bed dips and Louis moves up between his legs, he can tell he’s naked, skin radiating heat like a fire. 

Strong hands travel up the backs of Harry’s thighs, the course hair pulling slightly, and Harry can’t help but tilt his hips up, eager to feel more. Be touched more. 

“You’re so fucking pretty.” Louis’ voice is raspy and low as his hands lightly travel up over Harry’s bum, almost reverently. 

“You are,” Harry mumbles into the pillow, breath coming out short as he drags his cock against the bed in stilted movements. 

“You gonna let me taste you?” The hands on Harry’s bum clench down, not yet pulling him apart but wanting to. 

Harry groans, up for anything Louis requests at this point.  _ “Yes.” _

His mouth is flooded with saliva as Louis’ thumbs travel down to the curve of his bum before carefully thumbing him apart. Opening him up slowly, like Louis is treasuring every moment, every new part of him exposed. Harry’s head goes a little dizzy. He doesn’t know what he looks like to Louis. Can only imagine the crudeness of it all. The stench. His pink sensitive hole, the curl of sweat slicked pubes and muscles twitching.

“So pretty.” 

One hand leaves his bum cheek, and the next moment he feels a knuckle travel down from the end of his spine, down to where he’s already hot and wet. Waiting. 

He can’t help squirming, the light touch shooting daggers of electric heat all through his crotch. Then there’s a huff of breath against his skin and the next moment, Louis presses in. 

Harry’s cock twitches almost painfully as Louis’ soft mouth moves up and down his crack, beard burning Harry as his tongue sweeps over the sensitive skin over and over. 

Harry can’t help but to open his mouth to let spit flood out onto the sheets. It’s contradictory and strange, the way the thought of Louis tasting him like this makes  _ him  _ hungry, makes him feel so utterly desperate for a taste of his own. 

“You taste so fucking good. Taste like mine.” Louis mumbles against him, sending vibrations all through his core. Harry moans loudly, voice trembling with desperation and heat curling in his stomach. Nothing is better than feeling like Louis is cracking him open, holding him steady, keeping him locked down and safe. Owned. 

Louis’ tongue is wet and filthy rough, sliding up and down, occasionally stopping to just suck, to lick through the soaked curls along his crack eagerly. 

Harry knows he could easily come like this, has plenty of times when he’s been worked up enough. When he feels dirty enough to just let go, to let Louis devour him to the best of his abilities. 

“Lemme— I’m gonna— please…” he tries, whining slightly and trying to move away from the strong hold Louis has on him. Shoulders against the back of his thighs, face pressed in so close. 

Louis circles his rim with the tip of his tongue, like he wants to get some last minute teasing in before finally pulling away. Then he rests his cheek on Harry’s bum, just holding him apart, and Harry can feel his eyes burn into him. Feels his cheeks heat when Louis keeps looking at where he must be a right mess, skin sloppy and flushed, hair crusty and slick all at once.

“I’m so fucking lucky to have you like this,” Louis says, gently thumbing down his crack. Harry’s eyes burn because he agrees. They’re lucky. Lucky to have found each other, lucky that they were stubborn enough to break down each other’s walls and dare to choose the secret moments over nothing. 

Suddenly Harry can’t take it anymore, wants to watch and touch too, so he tilts his hips to the side, waiting for Louis to accept his wish to move. Louis plants a small kiss to the small of his back before moving out of the way, granting Harry the room to roll over onto his back. 

It doesn’t take long before Louis is hovering above him, all the naked glory of him, a hand on the side of Harry’s face enough to hold himself up. He looks down at where the jersey is rucked up, revealing the sharp cut of Harry’s hip bones, and the dewy trail of hair that leads to the base of his very hard cock. 

“My messy,” Louis says distractedly, as if his own beard isn’t shiny with spit. He lets his free hand travel up Harry’s belly and up under the jersey, slowly lowering himself down onto Harry at the same time. Harry closes his eyes and lets himself ravel in it for a moment, the press of Louis’ strong body on top of his, his thighs moving to bracket Harry’s, his deliciously hard cock dragging against his skin.

“You’re so fucking pretty, none of them even know,” Louis mumbles against his jaw as his hand finds Harry’s nipple and roughly moves his fingers over the hardened nub. 

With Louis close like this, Harry finally allows himself to touch. His hands finding the mouth watering curve of his waist, one of the things that sets him apart from most of their teammates’ bulky torsos. Louis is strong and explosive, faster and sleeker than anyone else on that ice, but where some rely on their towering size, Louis’ uses his lower point of gravity and the strength of his legs. 

Tilting his head to the side, Harry desperately seeks Louis’ mouth and lets out a moan when he finds it. Louis captures his nipple between two fingers and pulls, Harry’s cock jumping, body in overdrive.

Harry breaks the kiss, even if he misses the eager slide of their tongues the moment he does it. “Let me, I wanna…”

Louis smirks down at him, some of that sharpness back in the glint of his eyes. “What, darling?” He pulls harshly on Harry’s nipple again. 

“Ungh, I’m…” The thing is… he doesn’t know. Just wants everything, all at once, could  _ cry  _ because Louis is so smooth and clean, would do  _ anything _ to be drowned in that stench again. 

Then Louis moves away, sits up astride Harry’s thighs and Harry looks up at him desperately, trying to convey just how little he enjoys the air between them. Louis keeps on smiling. 

“Want me to make you come? Jerk you off nice and easy?” 

Harry clenches his jaw and his heel comes down on the bed in frustration. “Yes, no— you— you  _ know. _ ” 

With hands kneading up over his torso, palms sliding over his hard nipples and Louis’ cock nudging lightly at the base of his cock, Harry waits for an answer. A response. Anything. 

“I know, lift up.” Louis says as he reaches the hem of the jersey, pulling it upwards as Harry lifts his back. The fabric scratches over his sensitive skin, over pebbled nipples and up over his armpits, forcing Harry’s arms up over his head. Then he stops. He puts pressure on Harry’s arms so they’re flat against the mattress, capturing Harry’s face under the shirt. 

“Open up for me, baby.” Before he even has time to think, Harry opens his mouth and his spit soaked mouth is filled with fabric, Louis bunching it up and making sure as much of it as possible is held between Harry’s swollen lips. 

Harry doesn’t waste the opportunity to press his tongue against the fabric, taking a deep breath through his nose before sucking into the makeshift gag. It’s not as rich as the jockstrap or the armpits would be, but he revels in the salt exploding over his tongue. 

“Perfect, sweetheart, so perfect.” Louis’ pupils are blown as he takes in the picture before him, and Harry’s eyes burn again because nothing makes him feel better than this. As dirty as he is, Louis manages to make him feel _pretty,_ even with his long limbs stretched out and trembling, fringe plastered against his forehead and mouth soaked and full. 

“I know you want more, but I want you today, is that alright?” Louis meets his eyes and Harry nods without thinking, would accept every wish falling from Louis’ tongue. “God just, ever since that fucking reporter came onto you, I’ve been… I know I shouldn't, but damn, they should know… should know I’m the only one who gets to see you, taste you like this.” 

Harry knows it’s mostly the heat of the moment, that Louis isn’t  _ actually  _ serious about letting anyone know, but just the fact that he  _ wants to _ , that he  _ thinks about it _ , is enough to make Harry’s belly swoop. He sucks even harder on the polyester filling his mouth. 

“Just want you so much, all the time.” With that Louis leans down, nose first into Harry’s exposed armpit and breathes in deeply as he reaches down with a hand between Harry’s legs. As his tongue comes out to lap at the downy curls and the hyper sensitive skin, his fingers slide down beside his balls and slide through the lingering spit and sweat over Harry’s perineum. 

Harry’s always been sensitive to pressure there and his balls throb as Louis expertly massages him. His fingers twitch with the need to reach down and touch, to curl into Louis’ hair or press his fingers into the expanse of his back. 

But as his arms are ultimately trapped in the jersey all he can do is to squirm against the pressure, feeling strung between the tickling flick of Louis’ tongue and the steady circles of Louis fingers that occasionally drop down to graze over his hole. 

As Louis pulls his head back for a moment, Harry takes note of the rush of his breath, the slight blurriness to his eyes, the absolute ruined look of his beard soaked through and lips dark. Harry can’t imagine he makes a more put together picture himself. 

“Gonna make you come, then I want your mouth,” Louis says between trembling breaths. 

Then he moves down Harry’s body, situating himself between Harry’s legs before leaning down and running his lips against the length of Harry’s straining cock, his soaked-through beard dragging against the skin. He switches the pressure of his fingers, to his thumb behind Harry’s balls and his whole body tenses, pleasure electric and sharp.

“Oh  _ god _ ” he groans, jersey falling from his lips as his head falls back against the bed when Louis sucks the tip of his cock into his mouth. 

That’s when he loses himself. Stops thinking about where he’s supposed to be touching, what he’s  _ supposed to be doing _ , because everything in that moment is the external pressure against his prostate and the tight suck of Louis’ mouth. He lets himself go to the feeling and his throat pushes out a string of words he can’t make much sense of. Tears fall from the corners of his eyes and then he’s falling. 

Pleasure moves through his body in waves, thrumming through his veins, curling his toes and throwing his head back, baring his throat. His balls keep pulsing as he shoots come up over his belly, and he fists the sheet to keep himself grounded.

His chest is heaving and he’s able to stay in that space, to ride wave after wave, and before he knows it Louis is  _ there,  _ cock hanging heavy right in front of his face, and Harry looks up at Louis with pleading in his eyes, mouth falling open. 

As always, Louis gives him exactly what he wants. A hand holding him steady so he’s able to take Louis’ cock on his tongue, the girth forcing his mouth to stretch just so. And just like his tongue had sought the musk of Louis’ jersey, it now waters at the salt of precome on his tongue.

Louis moves his hips slowly above him, never giving him more than a few centimeters, but Harry doesn’t know how to ask for more. Just wants as much as Louis can give him and he wetly slides his tongue against the underside of the head of Louis’ cock. His own cock is still twitching in the wetness on his belly and Harry wishes he could stay in this moment always. 

Strung out, tasting, body still trembling. 

Another few moments later, urgent wet heat explodes over his tongue, filling his mouth too quickly for him to keep up. For a second he thinks it’s gonna stop him from breathing, but then Louis pulls out, the rest of it falling over his lips as he eagerly swallows it down, finally overwhelmed with the taste of Louis absolutely everywhere. 

Harry raises his hand to sloppily wipe across his mouth, tongue coming out to taste. Then Louis’ mouth is on his, sharing, helping him get those last drops with the swipe of his tongue. 

They’re trembling together, bodies sliding against each other with the heat. “Sorry darling, didn’t... should’ve warned you.” Louis’ fingers caress over the flush of his cheek.

Harry shakes his head, lips seeking Louis’ again. “Couldn’t be better,” he rasps out and then they’re kissing.

\---

Two hours later they’re tucked into bed again, shower fresh and new sheets, bellies full with a proper post-game meal. 

Pressed along Louis’ side, warm and worn out, Harry can easily let his thoughts fall away. He tends to be a worrier, always trying to think ahead, to figure out how to prevent the inevitable, but here like this he gets to truly rest. 

Louis’ hand caress along his arm, lips pressed to his brow. “Optional training tomorrow,” Louis murmurs, voice so soft Harry’s belly flutters. 

This man who always keeps the team on track, who’s incredible at lifting their spirits and guiding them towards focus, who deals with hours of mind numbingly repetitive journalists like it’s nothing, who never stops pushing himself, never stops throwing himself head first into every battle out there on the ice. He can also be this. A gentle caress and a sweet rasp of a voice. And only Harry is lucky enough to see it. 

“Optional, huh?” he slurs, lips rubbing against Louis’ skin.

“Just want you for a bit longer, it’s been a while.”

It has. Three weeks of a four game road trip where discretion is that much harder to keep, of their _slightly different_ schedules not lining up, of Harry’s three day cold.

They’re used to it after four years, but that doesn’t make it any more fun to deal with. 

“I think they’ll survive one training sesh without the A’s.” Harry determines and cuddles in even closer. 

Louis chuckles and leans down to kiss him, just a soft press of lips.

“They fucking better.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading, please leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed!
> 
> You can also find me on [tumblr.](http://gaycousinlarry.tumblr.com/)
> 
> And here's a tumblr post if you want to [reblog.](https://gaycousinlarry.tumblr.com/post/614048666220724224/sensitive-to-pressure-by-momentofclarity-logo-by) Thank you!


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